Happy New Year

January 14th, 2012

I don’t know where the last three weeks have gone, but they’ve flown by.  I hope that your festive season was enjoyable.  So, did you make any New Year’s resolutions?  We didn’t, but we probably ought to have.  Something’s just occurred to me: why is it that when we do resolve to do something it is always something (sort of) negative, or hard to do.  Something that requires us to deprive ourselves somehow, like losing weight, or drinking less, or watching less TV, or going to the gym more?  Why don’t we ever resolve to kiss the person you love more often, or to watch the sun set every evening, or jump in puddles???  Surely if our resolutions were pleasurable we’d be able to keep them longer?  What do you think?

One of the things about France that has long held our curiosity is “why do the French lay their tables with the tines of the forks facing downwards?”  Another is “Why are the handles of the knives often shaped so that when laid on the table the cutting edge of the blade is uppermost?”  Finally, I found an answer to the first question in an interview with Geneviève d’Angenstein, of L’Ecole Française de la Courtoisie et du Protocole that was published in the The Connexion.  Apparently, laying the table with the points facing up is deemed to be impolite,  aggressive and VERY bad form!  Who knew?  Actually, I suspect that it stems from the French aristocracy’s tendency to have the family coat of arms on the underside of the handles of their cutlery and this was a way of showing them off.  I also learned that in polite society sitting at the the dining table with your hands in your lap is rude.  I wonder why?  There are all sorts of other insights into what constitute good manners and etiquette, such as when to bise, when and how and who makes the decision to shift from the formal ‘vous’ to the familiar ‘tu’ and more.  If you’d like to read the full article you can find it here.  I’d be interested to hear your thoughts on the article.  I found it interesting as well as edifying.

Did you see the stories in the news about the Boulangerie Bandit who has been hitting bakeries in Paris?  Puts a whole new spin on the traditional hold-up line: “Your croissant or your life!” If you don’t believe me Google it, or you can follow this link to where I first read about him.  I promise that it’s true.  He struck most recently just two days ago.  Let’s hope that he doesn’t inspire someone to do similarly in Sainte-Foy-La-Grande.

Well, I think that’s it for today.  We’ve booked our tickets for our return to Les Terraces, but I’m not counting down the days.  Yet.  Maybe we’ll see you there?

Season’s Greetings

December 23rd, 2011

This may be the last blog post of 2011.  All depends upon how busy the festive season becomes.  At this point we’re not expecting to be busy, which is just fine.  For the first time ever we find ourselves as “empty-nesters” as Mo elected to spend the Christmas holiday in the UK.  Rather than going down to spend the holidays with my parents Mo has taken up an internship in the neuroscience department at university.  When I quizzed him on the phone yesterday about his plans for Christmas Day I was informed that he’s going to a friend’s house, nothing more.  We shan’t worry about him, but it will be very odd not making up a batch of his favourite  breakfast of Eggs Benedict, which has been our traditional Christmas morning breakfast ever since he discovered them at the grand old age of three.

We’ve had a good year at Les Terraces.  Graham was delighted by the changes we made to the second floor terrace and the uninterrupted views over the Dordogne that we now enjoy while seated.  Robin and Edward’s work was of the high standard that we have come to expect of them and we owe them a great deal of thanks for taking roughly executed drawings and creating something that is aesthetically very pleasing and in keeping with the house.  This year we’ve been lucky enough to host guests from Australia, Ireland, the US, Antigua and the UK.  Sadly, we weren’t able to meet all of them, but thoroughly enjoyed those we did meet.

We also experienced our first ever Bastille Day in France.  The communes of Sainte-Foy-La-Grande and Sainte-Foy-et-Ponchapt put on a superb firework display right opposite the house, so we enjoyed outstanding views.  As we were preparing for Mo’s 18th birthday party dinner (he was born on Bastille Day) we didn’t have the opportunity to go into Sainte-Foy and see what activities were going on and, sadly, we won’t be able to in 2012 as work will keep us here in Tortola until the end of July.  Hey, ho.  Such is life.

However, we are beginning to contemplate travelling back to Europe for Christmas 2012 … my parents will be marking their 30th wedding anniversary and, as Graham’s sister can no longer travel happily, we may spend Christmas in the North with her before flying home in time to host the New Year’s Day party that we inherited from a very good friend.  We’ll see.  Of course, there would be a weekend between my parents’ anniversary and Christmas that we could spend at Les Terraces, which is VERY tempting!

So, just in case I don’t write again before 2012 arrives, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.  May 2012 bring you health and happiness.

Very best wishes

Alex

PS: If you needed any encouragement to head to Les Terraces for Christmas, here’s some that I found in the UK’s Daily Telegraph.   We could be home at lunch time on Christmas Eve if we left now!!  Dream on ……

Odds and sods.

December 13th, 2011

With my novel-writing marathon behind me I’m plugging along at the book at a more measured pace and, joy of joys, back to reading.  I am a voracious reader, normally devouring something close to 3 books a week.  One of those readers who even finishes books that they don’t like.  Why?  Just to see if I can work out why I don’t like it.  I believe that in the last decade there is only one book that I have put down as frankly unreadable.  However, the second may be on the floor at the side of the bed at this very moment.

The Alien one passed on a book to  me the other day which I have loved.  It is Elizabeth Romer’s “The Tuscan Year”  (Orion books).  It has been a wonderfully evocative and inspiring read.  One that I have decided won’t be passed on.  Instead, it will travel to Sainte-Foy-La-Grande with us next Easter and live on the bookshelves of the second floor of Les Terraces.  In her chapter on September Mrs. Romer writes of foraging for mushrooms and includes some wonderful recipes, plus a very useful nugget of information about ceps (or porcini as they’re known in Italy) that I’m sharing with you now:

“The dark drier specimens are however preferred to the softer bronze-headed variety whose spores become a soft spongy olive green with age.  This is because the darker variety are harder and less likely to be attacked by grubs.”

When you’re paying up to €20 a kilofor ceps this is very useful, valuable even,  information, trust me.  I had to rush to salvage several that went spongy very quickly in September.  She also gives a marvelous recipe for grilled porcini, which I share with you here….

Grilled Porcini (per person)

1 large, or 2 smaller, porcini
1 large clove of garlic
1/4 handful of fresh parsley, mint or savory
salt & pepper
2 tbsp olive oil.

Clean the mushroom caps and slice the stems off close to the cap (note from me: dry these to use in hearty meaty winter stews, yummy).  Cut the cloves of garlic into slivers and pierce the caps with the slivers of garlic, pushing them into the flesh.  Chop the fresh herb and mix with the salt and pepper (fresh ground black is preferable).  Turn the porcini so that they are gill side up and press the herb mixture into them.  Finally, drizzle the olive oil over both surfaces of each cap and leave to marinate for 10-15 minutes before grilling them – ideally over a wood fire, basting with more oil as they cook.

Serve with excellent bread to mop up the juices.

Roll on September 2012.  I can’t wait to try them like this.  In fact, I may have to try this out with the Portabellas that we get here in the meantime.

On another (totally unrelated) matter, there has been an abandoned television bobbing in our corner of the harbour for the past 3 weeks.  I hadn’t thought that they were so air-tight that one could float for so long.  And before anyone makes any comments, no, it wasn’t wearing the life jacket that is alongside it!

our nice clean harbour!

our nice clean harbour

Also, I discovered someone new working in our office yesterday.  He was hiding under a load of paper.  Fortunately, we don’t have to pay him much:

lizard

Free pest control. He's no good with paperwork, but loves eating mosquitoes

Bragging rights

November 29th, 2011

OK.  I’ll keep this short and sweet.  No drum-roll or fanfare needed:

There! I did it!

Now all that remains is to actually finish the story.  Then we’ll see if it can really be a book.  However, I understand that as a competition winner I can receive (free of charge) 5 printed and bound copies of it.  Anyone want to design a cover for me?

And now….. back to reality.  Our friend Cynthia has breast cancer.  Last month, the day before her 41st birthday, surgeons here removed her left breast.  Biopsies of the lymph nodes they took out at the same time reveal that she  now has to undergo chemo, possibly radiation too.  As she has no health insurance and this treatment isn’t available in the little backwater that we call home we’re doing fundraising events for her, starting with one this weekend.  Time for me to get cooking, as we think that we need to raise $20,000 for her.

Going AWOL

November 26th, 2011

I know that there are precisely three regular readers of this blog.  No, four.  My mother – hi Mor, Judy, Mary and Trudi.  Hi Ladies.  Happy belated Thanksgiving, Judy & Mary.  Hugs to you T.

You may be wondering where I’ve been for the last month, as you’ve not seen anything posted here.  I do have an excuse, honest I do.  You see, I set myself a challenge this year. Or, more accurately, I accepted one.  That challenge was to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days.  Why?  Just to see if I could.  So instead of laying down 500 or so words about life at Les Terraces, or the occasional BVI vignette once a week/fortnight I’ve been perched on the edge of the settee in the wee hours of the morning before the sun comes up crafting some form of a novel.

The inspiration for this challenge came one slow day in the office when I was looking for God-knows-what on the Internet and I stumbled upon a reference to National Novel Writing Month (www.NaNoWriMo.org).  As each of you ladies is well aware I’m a blonde singularly lacking in imagination … you can make your comments at the foot of this post, don’t save them as silent speech bubbles, please (you might give me some pithy comments that I can use in a book later).  I decided to embark upon the venture.  For the record, Graham thinks I’m nuts, but he did read everything that I’d written up to the half-way point in one day.  He has some catching up to do.

It has been a fascinating journey.  As of 5:15 when I slipped out of bed and re-started my computer I had 44,726 words under my belt.  The end is in sight.  No, the goal posts are in sight and I’ll score a goal on my first try, but the book, I have discovered, isn’t half way to being a complete story.  What is mind blowing is that the NaNo web site reveals that there have been 2,388,484,748 words written by participants around the globe.  Two and a quarter billion words!  It’s pretty awe inspiring (or daunting, depending upon your perspective).

So my apologies if you’ve been missing my drivel.  At least you now know why.  I’ll be back soon.  I promise!  Now, back to work.  Byeee.

Bread, the update.

November 11th, 2011

The sourdough starter bubbled and fermented away in the fridge.  After three days it looked like this:

you can see bubbles rising from the mixture (see the right-hand side of the dish)

I have to say that my initial thoughts on the mother were less than confident.  However, it was clearly fermenting and smelled fresh, not funky.  I stirred the liqour back into the solids at the bottom and measured out the ¾ cup I would need for the batch of bread.  Then I added more water and flour to replace the volume I’d just removed.  The container sat, loosely covered, on the counter until the following morning, by which time it was nice and spongy again.  It was returned to the fridge.

The bread took a long time to make but required no kneading, which is different.  It seems to rely upon the yeast in the mother actually breaking down the gluten.  I hasten to add that this is surmise, not fact, and I’ll be delighted for someone to put me right on that.  So basically, you just stretch and fold the dough a few times over a few hours and then shape it into a loaf tin (or in flour-dusted cloth-lined basket for a more authentic look), let it rise until it has doubled in size and bake it.

Easy peasy.  Even I can do that.  See ……….

The finished product

Now, it tasted good, and the texture was good too – not as crumbly as the bread that I normally make.  but it wasn’t sour enough.  So since then I’ve been messing around with letting the starter, or mother, get hungrier and hungrier.  I’ve also experimented with different methods of actually making the bread with varying degrees of success.  The last batch was good and sour, maybe even a tad too sour, but it didn’t rise properly.  We’ll have another go this weekend and see what happens next.

Oh, one nuggest of information for you: if you put the bread into the hot oven and then pour a large glass of water onto the bottom of the oven it creates wonderful steam, which makes for a nice crunchy crust and it also does quite a nice job of cleaning the bottom of the oven too!

Bread

October 27th, 2011

The staff of life.  I’ll leave the other phrases and synonyms for you to seek.  Here they’ll only be fillers, and we don’t need any of those.  We’re concentrating on the most basic here: bread.

Here in Tortola we’re not blessed with good bread (you can find another post about my home-baking efforts here:  ).  Forgive me, but American bread is awful, at least the mass-produced rubbish we get here is.  It is sweet and sticks to the roof of your mouth like a sticking plaster. So a couple of years ago I decided to learn how to make bread myself.  Graham (god bless him) gamely consumed many a lead weight before I got the knack of it, and it still doesn’t work all of the time, but most of the time it does.

We’ve been back from France for 3 weeks now (good grief, is it really that long??). I enjoy baguettes (though we mostly eat pain, as it lasts longer), but I miss a good nutty multi-grain loaf, so I was very happy to get kneading again the first weekend after we returned to the BVI.  But I’ve been musing about sourdough (having just bought a huge packet of baker’s yeast), so today I’ve done my research on the web – how did we ever live without it? – and made a sourdough starter.  Hopefully it will be ready to be the mother for a loaf in about 3 days time.  It had better be as the bread that’s in the freezer will have been eaten by then!

I’ve been thinking that when we return to Les Terraces in March I’ll start trying to bake there.  I know it will be different as we won’t have the same heat for proving and so on, but we can get a good mixture of grains to make a good multi-grain bread.  Perhaps I’ll make a sourdough “Mother” (or, shhhh, bring it with me from Tortola) and entrust it to Trudi for safe-keeping.

So, here’s the recipe I’m trying:

2.5 tsp yeast
2 cups warm water
2 cups (multi-grain) flour

I’ve mixed it all up in a glass dish and covered it with a lid to furkle in the warmth.

We’ll see.

The mixture before it started on its transformation into a "mother"

Day trip to Blaye

October 23rd, 2011

After having had breakfast, checked the e-mails, done the crossword and read the newspapers I uttered the dread words “Right, I think that we need to do something today.  It is a beautiful day and I’ve no intention of wasting it sat at home.”  Graham blanched.  His shoulders sagged.  Resignation filled the air.  “If you’d rather stay home, that’s OK.  I can go alone,”  I offered.

“No, no, that’s fine.  Where do you want to go?”

“Well, Paul & Viv (Australian guests this summer) mentioned Blaye.  There’s a citadel there.  And a ferry that crosses the Gironde.”

“OK.”

So, off we set.  Graham doing the driving and me doing the navigating.  We got lost a couple of times, well, missed turnings really.  Nothing serious.  My fault, as I’d chosen the scenic route through Lussac, Coutras and Saint-André-de-Cuzbac, which involves many more of the white roads to which I have referred in previous posts.  It was a nice drive, but long – 3 hours.  It was fascinating to see how abruptly wine country stops and then starts again.

We took the signs to the Centre Ville and had no problems finding it.  We parked the car, made a quick run into the Tourism Office (don’t bother, there’s nothing there) and then went in search of a bite to eat.  We shared a terrine de foie gras de canard, which means that Graham had about 4 bites, while I ate the rest, and then I went off to explore the Citadel.  It is very impressive, and somewhat reminiscent of El Morro in San Juan, Puerto Rico, at least on the exterior.

Blaye Citadel

This corner piece reminds us of El Morro in San Juan, Puerto Rico, and is of a similar period.

I have to say that the entire area is very impressive, and surprisingly accessible.  The Citadel is now home to an hotel, plus several restaurants and artisans.  Refreshingly, it is also clear that there are also a few people still living within its walls too, as evidenced by this beautifully kept cottage:

 

Blaye citadel cottage

This lovely home within the Citadel is still inhabited - and make sure you keep off the grass!

The area covered by the Citadel is enormous.  I can’t help but wonder at how much work went into building these massive structures, particularly without JCBs and enormous cranes, can you?

citadel de blaye

I believe that this is the original fortification, upon which Vauban expanded in the late 1600's

Knowing what we know now, we’d have packed a picnic, as it is possible to drive right up into the Citadel, which is generously scattered with picnic tables/benches and super views.

Blaye Ramparts

Just a small section of the ramparts of Blaye's Citadel

We didn’t catch the ferry over to the other side of the Gironde, but another day, perhaps.  We did take the more direct route home to Les Terraces, past some stunning chateaux (no photos, as I don’t like asking Graham to scream to a halt).  It was a nice day out.  One that I’d recommend, but start earlier in the morning than we did, and cross over to the other shore and visit one of the Chateaux in Medoc and do a wine tasting.

Bush tea

October 20th, 2011

Have you noticed how when you travel, especially in one of those airborne sardine-can-torture-chamber things otherwise known as planes, you have a tendency to get sick?  My dearly beloved has a serious propensity for this.  I dose both of us up with echinaacea for 3 days before we travel.  And I maintain the dosage for 3 days after travel too.

We sit side-by-side, eat the same food, drink the same drinks for the duration of the trip.  Why is it that Graham develops a cold (that generally goes to his chest) within 48 hours of landing and I never do?  Maybe it’s because I watch “chick flicks” and he doesn’t???

Anyway, this year’s departure from Les Terraces was worse then ever before.  Graham has been SICK.  Not just plain old man-flu (sorry, darling), but  really sick.  There are things rattling around in his chest that I’m sure ought not to be there.  You know that he’s tom and dick when a) he’s still asleep at 11AM and, b) he doesn’t go and join the old farts for a sundowner.

At Tanya’s recommendation I added Kyolic Garlic to the regimen of home remedies (Jewish penicillin, AKA chicken soup, and echinacea), plus commercial cough/cold suppressants.  No change, other than being $17 poorer.  Princess told me that bush was the answer, so I tended bar for her while she went up the hill and picked bush for us.  She returned with Neem and Rainfall (I think).  A bag full of it.  She sat at the table and tore off stems of both plants and described exactly how I ought to steep the leaves to make a tea for Graham.

Rainfall & Neem (the neem is on the left)

I did as I was told (bush tea is a fabulous remedy).  Graham took one sip and went (as only Snoopy can) bleuch!  I asked if some honey would help?  I can’t repeat the reply!  I tasted the offending brew – it is truly disgusting.  Really, really nasty.  But if it works, who are we to complain?  Graham doesn’t know, but there’s another dose steeping as we speak.  He WILL get better.  Or perhaps I’d be better off just taking him back to France?

Le bourru est arrivé

October 17th, 2011
Le bourru

Bottles of Le Bourru on display

One of the seasonal specialties throughout France’s wine-producing regions is Le Bourru.  You generally start to see signs, both printed and hand-written, on flourescent paper about 3 weeks after the start of the vendage.  Le Bourru est arrivé! is proclaimed with enthusiasm on market stalls and at bottling plants and collectives.

A few of summers ago we had my father from Cyprus and some friends from Lancashire visiting us at Les Terraces on the first weekend that Le Bourru made its appearance for the year.  My father had asked me what it was as we walked around Sainte-Foy-La-Grande’s weekly market.  I explained, but said that we’d never actually tried it.  To be honest it looks more than a bit dodgy.

You can see from the image above that it’s a cloudy greenish liquid.  It is generally sold in screw-top bottles that have a small hole let into the cap.  This is a safety feature … this liquid is fermenting in the bottles and can explode tightly sealed bottles.  My father decided that we had to try some, so bought a 1.5 litre plastic bottle of the stuff.  When he shelled out 2€ for it I feared that this was to be a memorable experience.  We took it home and got a serious chill going on it while I prepared lunch from the rest of the market purchases: oysters, merguez sausages, salad and cheese.

Once lunch was on the terrace table and all were assembled we took it from the freezer.  With as much panache as is possible when opening something as inelegant as a recycled plastic bottle full of rather dubious-looking liquid my father poured 5 glasses of Le Bourru.  We toasted each other and the beautiful day, raised our glasses to our lips and tasted.

There was a long silence.   I looked from face to face.  Each expression told the same story…… it was disgusting!  I decanted a carafe of red wine from our trusty vrac container (we buy our wine in bulk from a local bottling plant) and removed the glasses of Le Bourru from the table.  We wondered what all of the excitement about the product was about.  Why, in an area that produces such distinguished wines, was there such hype surrounding something that, frankly, was less appealing than gnat’s pee?  We couldn’t work it out then and, 3 summers later, we’re no wiser.  It must be a cultural thing.  I have learned, though, that it is an efficacious laxative, if you find yourself in need!

Once lunch was finished and the dishes stacked into the dishwasher I turned to my father and said “I can’t work out a single use for this stuff.  Thank you very much, but would you be offended if I poured it down the drain?”  “Not at all.” was his reply.

I did.  It is an experiment that hasn’t been repeated.